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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24152440">Up Close and Personal</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyRhiyana/pseuds/LadyRhiyana'>LadyRhiyana</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Royalty!AU [4]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Bodyguard, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Established Relationship, Everything is Beautiful and Nothing Hurts, F/M, Romantic Fluff, Short drabbles and ficlets</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 19:39:45</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,627</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24152440</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyRhiyana/pseuds/LadyRhiyana</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>In one particular selfie, the king had his arm slung about the Lord Commander’s shoulders and was turned towards her, grinning warmly, while she stared into the camera with a look of exasperated resignation.</p><p>** </p><p>Chapter 6 now up.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Royalty!AU [4]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1576543</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>240</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>368</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Initial inspiration for this came from the k-drama "The King: Eternal Monarch", which features (amongst other things) a long-suffering captain of the Royal Guards who trails helplessly after his smiling king.</p><p>I thought I would make this a kind of open-ended series of drabbles featuring the adventures of King!Jaime and long-suffering bodyguard!Brienne.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>King Jaime Lannister was the darling of the media. The people loved him. He was handsome and smiling and cocky, and his Instagram account – glamorous photos of the Red Keep, his fast cars and fabulous clothes mixed with more impulsive snaps of people and food and events, good-naturedly promoting small businesses and tourism in all the cities and towns he visited – had millions upon millions of followers.  </p>
<p>Not least because many of the king’s candid photos featured the dour, never-smiling head of his Kingsguard. Black-suited, black-sunglass’d, her hair slicked ruthlessly back, Lord Commander Brienne Tarth was ever-serious, ever-vigilant, and everywhere the golden king went so did she, long-suffering and disapproving. </p>
<p>In one particular selfie, the king had his arm slung about the Lord Commander’s shoulders and was turned towards her, grinning warmly, while she stared into the camera with a look of exasperated resignation.  </p>
<p>**</p>
<p>Brienne wondered where it had all gone so wrong. </p>
<p>The Kingsguard were supposed to be invisible. Inconspicuous. The Lord Commander had to be all of these things and more. </p>
<p>She was not supposed to feature prominently in the king’s Instagram account. She should not be the subject of online speculation as Twitter squeed over the king’s latest adorable selfie. </p>
<p>She definitely should not fall asleep in his bed, and wake to find that he had wandered down to the kitchen, alone and unprotected, and had returned with a tray of toast and fruit and orange juice. </p>
<p>“Good morning, Lord Commander,” the king said with a slow, curling grin as he put the tray down on the bed between them. “I trust you slept well?”</p>
<p>Brienne hitched herself up against the pillows and eyed him warily. In the five years since she had joined the Kingsguard and had been appointed to the king’s personal security, she’d learned to distrust that grin. It had led them both into any manner of trouble. </p>
<p>It had lured her into his bed, nearly six months ago.</p>
<p>“What are you up to now, Jaime?” she asked. </p>
<p>He only smiled.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Street Brawl</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>“What could possibly go wrong?” Jaime asked. He held out his arms and turned, showing off his designer jeans and dark green dress shirt. “Look. I’m completely incognito.”</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you all so much for the overwhelming response to my first mini-ficlet! Please have some more insufferable King!Jaime and exasperated bodyguard!Brienne. </p>
<p>(Featuring a random street gang of anonymous and disposable thugs, present only to be beaten up by the hero. Because that's how this story rolls.)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“This is a bad idea,” Brienne said. </p>
<p>Jaime smiled. “What could possibly go wrong?” He held out his arms and turned, showing off his designer jeans and dark green dress shirt. “Look. I’m completely incognito.” </p>
<p>He slipped on a pair of mirrored sunglasses. The morning sun shone down on his thick, curling golden hair and three-day designer stubble. </p>
<p>He looked like a golden god. </p>
<p>Brienne sighed. “At least take off the ten-thousand dragon Rolex.” </p>
<p>He looked down at his wrist. “Tyrion gave me this watch for my eighteenth birthday. He saved up his allowance for two whole months when he was 10.”</p>
<p>“Then I’m sure you don’t want to lose it.” </p>
<p>He sighed and rolled up his sleeves, slipping the watch into his pocket. </p>
<p>“There,” he said. </p>
<p>Brienne’s eyes were irresistibly drawn to the dark edges of a tattoo on his strong forearm: a crown and seven-pointed star. </p>
<p>Jaime had been one of the Kingsguard, once. Before. </p>
<p>“If we’re going to wander the streets,” Brienne said firmly, “please try and stay close to me. Your aunt will never forgive me if I lose you.”</p>
<p>“Trust me, Brienne,” Jaime said with a lop-sided smile, “you’ll never lose me.” </p>
<p>** </p>
<p>It was the beginning of summer. The sky shone blue over King’s Landing, yachts and pleasure craft dotting the surface of Blackwater Bay. The people of the city were out and about, enjoying the sunshine; there was a farmer’s market and a street festival and live music spilling out of all the pubs and cafes. </p>
<p>Jaime and Brienne wandered anonymous through the crowds, sight-seeing, food-sampling, browsing the goods on display and pausing to watch the street performers. Brienne trailed discreetly behind her charge – or as discreetly as an imposing, muscular woman of more than six feet with short white-blonde hair ever could, even dressed in jeans and a short-sleeved t-shirt with a flannel shirt over the top. </p>
<p>Inevitably, people recognised her on the street. “Oh, you’re the king’s chief bodyguard!” a young woman said. “I saw you on his Instagram. You’re so cute together.”</p>
<p>“My daughter wants to be like you when she grows up,” a mother said, smiling. “Strong and capable and brave.”</p>
<p>Brienne flushed at that. Jaime – two steps away, completely disregarded – sent her a flashing grin. </p>
<p>They recognised him too, of course. Brienne saw the startled double-takes and the wide-eyed looks. But she loomed over his shoulder and glowered if anyone got too close. </p>
<p>As the morning went on, they wandered further and further away from the keep, down into the narrow and tangled streets of Flea Bottom. The ancient poor quarter of the city was mostly gentrified now, but there were still some areas where it was inadvisable to walk alone and unprotected – </p>
<p>Such as the narrow street they found themselves in now. </p>
<p>A group of eight or ten thugs spilled out onto the street, swaggering and puffing out their chests as they surrounded Brienne and Jaime. </p>
<p>“Well, well, well,” the leader drawled, “who’s this, wandering on to my patch?” He looked Jaime up and down, his eyes taking in the expensive clothes and shoes, the curling golden hair. </p>
<p>One of the thugs standing behind the leader recognised Jaime – and Brienne – and tugged frantically on his leader’s sleeve, whispering in his ear. </p>
<p>The leader smirked. “Welcome, Kingslayer,” he said, looking straight at Jaime and spitting on the ground. </p>
<p>Jaime’s eyes narrowed. Brienne put her hand on the butt of her gun, concealed beneath her flannel shirt. The bright spark who had recognised them began to edge away.</p>
<p>“Good king Aerys had barrels of wildfire stored beneath this very street,” Jaime said, his tone light and detached. “Perhaps if I’d kept my oaths, you wouldn’t be here today to insult me.” He looked at the leader and smirked, razor-sharp and insufferable. “No doubt I should have thought it through before I killed him.”</p>
<p>Brienne only sighed. “Your Grace,” she began.</p>
<p>He threw her a questioning look. But before she could reply, the leader flushed purple. “Get him!” he shouted. </p>
<p>The thugs attacked en masse.</p>
<p>Brienne stood back and watched, arms folded. Just in case, she tapped her earpiece and said: “Stand by.” </p>
<p>Jaime was grinning wildly as he fought. There was a fierce grace to his movements: he had been superbly trained, and before his time in the Kingsguard had been a decorated veteran of the Kingswood campaign. He kicked and punched and dodged the shouting thugs, his delight in the action clear for all to see. </p>
<p>“Another street brawl,” Dacey Mormont said, materialising at her elbow, a black-clad and discreet shadow. “I wonder you let him get away with it.” Other discreet shadows materialised in the surrounding alleyways, dark sunglasses and slicked back hair.</p>
<p>Brienne shrugged. “If I don’t let him out to find trouble, he’ll only find it on his own. Besides, it does him good. And it only enhances his reputation.”</p>
<p>They watched as King Jaime Lannister, the First of His Name, took a punch to his face and staggered back, grinning through bloodied teeth. There were only four thugs still standing now, but the leader flicked out a butterfly knife and began to advance on Jaime from behind. </p>
<p>Brienne barked out a word. Instantly, black-clad security surrounded the leader and the remaining thugs, guns drawn and ready to kill. The thugs froze, eyes comically wide and terrified as they slowly raised their hands in surrender. </p>
<p>Jaime sent her a look of wounded betrayal and dismay. “I had them,” he said. </p>
<p>Brienne only rolled her eyes.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Dress Whites</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>“Dress whites are not to be defiled in such a manner,” she said.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Please enjoy some more ridiculous fluff :-)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>A white computer sat on a white desk in a white office. </p><p>Dressed in her official black suit, her lapel pin a discreet crown and seven-pointed star, Brienne attended to much of the administrivia that came of being the head of a government security and protection agency. Reports. Requests for information. Liaising with other inter-governmental agencies. </p><p>The position of Lord Commander of the Kingsguard was ancient and honourable, dating back to the very first years after the Targaryen Conquest. In those days of white-cloaked knights and warring dragon kings, when there had been only seven members of the Kingsguard, the Lord Commander’s sole concern had been the safety of the king and the royal family.</p><p>Sometimes, Brienne longed for the simplicity of those long-ago times. </p><p>She wondered if Ser Duncan the Tall ever had to generate budgets for the Kingsguard’s projected expenditure for the upcoming financial year, or if old Ser Barristan Selmy ever had to liaise with various state and federal agencies in order to facilitate the upcoming royal progression. </p><p>In those days, the king probably just got on his horse and rode out, his Kingsguard following behind in their armour and white cloaks, and the Lord Commander’s jurisdiction – springing as it did from the Iron Throne – was absolute throughout all of the Seven Kingdoms.</p><p>Alas, in these enlightened times of merely constitutional monarchy, the king – and the Kingsguard – were no longer iron-fisted brutes.</p><p>She sighed. </p><p>Across the room, sprawled in blue jeans and a Lannisport Lions jersey across her white leather lounge, King Jaime lifted his head. On the rare days when he was free of official engagements and meetings, he liked to come to Brienne’s office and nap while she worked. </p><p>He found it soothing, he said. She wondered if he simply liked her couch.  </p><p>“Something wrong?” he asked. </p><p>“Oh, nothing,” she said. “Just wishing I could wear full armour and a sword with the white cloak.” </p><p>“Really?” He sat up and considered her, his slow smile curling, a spark of laughing heat in his green eyes. “I’m willing if you are. Will you wear the full dress uniform?”  </p><p>She threw a pen at him. He snatched it out of the air, grinning, his reflexes lightning-quick as ever. “Dress whites are not to be defiled in such a manner,” she said, trying for sternness and failing. </p><p>He only laughed. </p><p>**</p><p>That night, she brought a garment bag with her to his chambers, carefully folded over her arm. </p><p>“Well, well,” he said, circling her as she stood in her usual black trouser-suit and her flat leather shoes, her hair falling out of its usual ruthless slicked-back style, her lips twitching as she tried not to smile. “Lord Commander, you are out of uniform. I distinctly recall –”</p><p>Wordless, she unzipped the garment bag to reveal – </p><p>“Oh,” he breathed. </p><p>– a long, heavy woollen cloak, pure white, clasped at the shoulders with golden lion’s heads. </p><p>“Oh, that will do nicely,” he said. “But do you really think it goes with the black suit and sunglasses?”</p><p>**</p><p>She wore the white cloak and nothing else.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. The Indomitable Aunt</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>“It’s time you were finally married, nephew,” Lady Genna said. “It’s time to put an end to the speculation.” She looked him up and down. “And besides, you’re not getting any younger.” </p>
<p>[Introducing aunt Genna.]</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Lord Commander,” Jaime said, “I have something very serious to talk to you about.” </p>
<p>“Hmm?” Brienne said absently, mentally reviewing the arrangements for the upcoming royal progress. </p>
<p>They were walking along the ancient battlements of the Keep, looking out over Blackwater Bay. The sun was sinking behind them, and the sky was painted in shades of red and gold and deep blue. </p>
<p>“I’ve decided to shave my hair and run away to Essos,” Jaime said. </p>
<p>“Hmm,” Brienne agreed, her mind focused on possible security threats in the North.</p>
<p>“Tyrion and I are going in search of dragons.” </p>
<p>“That’s nice,” Brienne said automatically. The free folk had invited the king to officiate at the Highland Games. What were the chances of his finding trouble? </p>
<p>Jaime stopped in the middle of the walkway. Blinking, she peered suspiciously at him. “Did you just say –”</p>
<p>He pulled her into a kiss. His lips were soft, his golden stubble scratching; he put his hand on her cheek and smiled. </p>
<p>“Brienne –”  </p>
<p>Her ear-piece crackled and came to life. </p>
<p>He dropped his hand, stepped back, and sighed. “What is it?”</p>
<p>She frowned, listened to Dacey’s voice in her ear. </p>
<p>“Your aunt is looking for you,” she said. </p>
<p>** </p>
<p>They attended on Lady Genna in her office. Jaime, refusing to sit before her desk like a subordinate waiting to be rebuked, strolled over to the window and lounged against the sill, arms crossed. </p>
<p>Lady Genna frowned at him, her lips pressed thin, but forebore to remark.</p>
<p>“That woman is coming to the Keep tomorrow,” she began. </p>
<p>By ‘that woman’, Brienne knew she meant Margaery Tyrell, the new Prime Minister. Young, beautiful, ruthless and ambitious, it was no secret that she fancied herself as Jaime’s queen. </p>
<p>From the look in Lady Genna’s eyes, she would see her dead before that happened.</p>
<p>It was a pity. Brienne rather admired Margaery Tyrell. She was ferociously competent and focused on the good of the kingdoms and the people.</p>
<p>“It’s time you were finally married, nephew,” Lady Genna said. “It’s time to put an end to the speculation.” She looked him up and down. “And besides, you’re not getting any younger.” </p>
<p>Jaime sighed. “I’m two and thirty, aunt. Hardly in my dotage.” </p>
<p>“The Iron Throne is a perilous seat. You’ve occupied it for nearly fifteen years, but who knows what the future holds? If you die tomorrow –”</p>
<p>“I’ve always thought Tyrion would make a much better king,” Jaime said thoughtfully. </p>
<p>“Jaime!” Lady Genna hissed. “Please. Be serious.” </p>
<p>Tyrion had retired from public life to marry an exotic dancer, and now lived happily on the isle of Lys. He had three children and an award-winning vineyard.</p>
<p>“What’s brought this on, aunt?” Jaime asked, crossing over to the desk and taking her hand. “You’ve been trying for years to marry me off.”</p>
<p>She sighed. “Jaime, sweetling. You’re my favourite nephew. But if that woman gets her claws into you, I’ll wash my hands of you.” </p>
<p>Brienne coughed involuntarily.  </p>
<p>Jaime grinned, and his eyes slid towards her. “Don’t worry,” he said. “I know someone far more beautiful.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>The young, beautiful and ambitious Prime Minister and the line "Don't worry. I know someone far [prettier]" are borrowed from "The King: Eternal Monarch". </p>
<p>Chapter title is from PG Wodehouse.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. The Prime Minister, Margaery Tyrell</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>“I’m afraid I’m a mild-mannered monarch,” he said pleasantly. “All the constitutional reforms mean that the Iron Throne is not what it once was. In fact, Lady Tyrell, I would say that you wield more power as the Prime Minister than I do.” </p>
<p>“And yet you came to power by murdering the last king.”</p>
<p>** </p>
<p>The new Prime Minister has questions. Jaime answers them.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The Prime Minister, Lady Margaery Tyrell, was dressed in fabulous designer-wear and towering heels. Her hair was pulled sharply back to reveal her natural beauty, her melting brown eyes and mischievous mouth. </p>
<p>She had dimples. </p>
<p>“Your Grace,” she said, as she entered the audience room. </p>
<p>Her curtsey was perfect; the curve of her smile was calculated to the nth degree. </p>
<p>“Lady Tyrell,” Jaime said, rising to his feet and offering his hand. </p>
<p>She shook it with lovely grace and smiled again, revealing perfect white teeth. </p>
<p>Watching from her station in the corner, Brienne found herself impressed. It was obvious that Lady Tyrell had charm and intelligence in spades; what she must also have – but didn’t betray at all – was the ruthless, white-hot ambition that had propelled her to high office at such an early age. </p>
<p>“Congratulations on your election,” Jaime continued, smiling his pleasant social smile – somehow entirely different from his true curling grin. “I look forward to working with you for the good of the Seven Kingdoms.” </p>
<p>They sat down, Lady Tyrell smoothing her skirt and crossing her sheer-stockinged legs with a soft shush of expensive silk. </p>
<p>But Jaime’s polite gaze did not once stray from her face. </p>
<p>(If Brienne tried that trick, would it distract him and make his eyes glaze over?) </p>
<p>As they exchanged polite small talk and vague pleasantries, Brienne turned her mind to various matters she needed to take care of, only a fraction of her attention focused on the rise and fall of the conversation. So long as the tone of their voices did not change, she was content to let it flow past her unheeded. </p>
<p>It was the hint of steel beneath Lady Tyrell’s sweet voice that drew Brienne back to the audience. </p>
<p>The Prime Minister had mentioned – something about tyrants and iron fists. </p>
<p>Jaime was smiling again, his too-sharp smile, revealing too many teeth.  </p>
<p>Brienne coughed, and he deliberately relaxed. “I’m afraid I’m a mild-mannered monarch,” he said pleasantly. “All the constitutional reforms mean that the Iron Throne is not what it once was. In fact, Lady Tyrell, I would say that you wield more power as the Prime Minister than I do.” </p>
<p>“And yet you came to power by murdering the last king.” </p>
<p>“Ah.” Jaime sighed, and leaned back in his chair. “It always comes back to that, doesn’t it? Aerys was a tyrant beyond your worst nightmares.”</p>
<p>“You broke your sacred oath,” Lady Tyrell said. “You dragged a sick, raving old man into the courtyard of the Red Keep and shot him in the head, in full view of news cameras rolling live across the Seven Kingdoms.” </p>
<p>Brienne had been only twelve years old at the time. Her father had not allowed her to watch the news coverage. She’d looked it up when she first considered applying for a position in the Kingsguard. </p>
<p>With the benefit of hindsight, the news reports and analyses following Jaime’s regicide were clearly influenced by Tywin Lannister’s spin doctors. They’d made sure that the full horrors of Aerys’ reign were revealed, painting Jaime not as an oathbreaker murdering an old man but as a reluctant hero who had saved the lives of millions of people.  </p>
<p>Even then, at only seventeen years old, he’d been devastatingly handsome. The cameras had loved him. The news anchors had extolled his heroism. The people had cheered as it was announced that he was to be the next king. </p>
<p>Brienne thought he’d looked lost and overwhelmed.</p>
<p>“I put an end to a monster,” Jaime retorted. “But don’t worry.” He glanced at Brienne. “If ever I start down the road to madness, I trust the Lord Commander to stop me. If need be, in the same manner.”</p>
<p>Brienne stared at him, appalled – but his green eyes were utterly sincere. </p>
<p>** </p>
<p>When Lady Tyrell finally departed, her concerns addressed if not allayed, Brienne turned to Jaime. </p>
<p>“I’m not going to kill you,” she said. </p>
<p>“I sincerely hope not.” He grinned. “I haven’t become a tyrant in fifteen years; I don’t intend to become one in the future. I’ve done all I can to avoid it.” He yawned and threw himself down on the couch. “Besides, it’s far too stressful, being an absolute monarch.” </p>
<p>He was wearing a rumpled black suit with no tie. His hair was messy, his eyes bright with lazy amusement – and something sharper.</p>
<p>“Lord Commander,” he said softly, “you are the truest person I know. If you’re ever faced with the same choice –”</p>
<p><i>I can’t kill you,</i> Brienne thought suddenly. <i>I love you.</i> </p>
<p>“Jaime.” She sank down beside him on the couch and put her hand on his cheek. “I know you too well. You don’t have it in you to be a tyrant. I won’t allow it.” </p>
<p>He covered her hand with his own and leaned in, resting his forehead against hers. From that short distance, his green eyes peered into hers. </p>
<p>“You won’t allow it?” </p>
<p>“I won’t,” she insisted. “I’m far too stubborn. I’ll drag you back from the edge, kicking and screaming.” </p>
<p>He smiled. “I’ll hold you to that,” he whispered, and then kissed her, slow and sweet.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>(Some time later, Brienne wore a pinstriped jacket and a pencil skirt, with sheer stockings and towering heels, and conducted an experiment. The results were highly satisfactory.)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. The King on the Iron Throne</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>It was a nice moment. A lovely moment. Impulsively, she fumbled out her phone and held it up, glancing at him in question – </p>
<p>“Of course,” he said with a smile. He pressed closer to her, his crown tipping at an even more precarious angle, and she fiddled with the settings until they were both in the frame, the Iron Throne looming behind them.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Just a little bit of fluff, to brighten my day :-)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The sunlight falling through the great stained-glass windows filled the throne room with golden colour. King Jaime Lannister, the First of His Name, sat the Iron Throne, his crown pressed over his brow, and looked every bit the monarch –</p>
<p><em>Mama, </em>Brienne heard a young child whisper in the audience, <em>he looks just like the coins!*</em></p>
<p>The child was quickly shushed, but the acoustics in the throne room were excellent; when Jaime threw her a laughing glance, Brienne knew that he, too, had heard.</p>
<p>**</p>
<p>“You do look like the coins,” Brienne remarked, later, when the throne room had emptied of people, leaving only Brienne at the foot of the throne and Jaime sitting on the steps leading up to it, one leg drawn up, elbow resting on his knee.</p>
<p>His crown was slipping over his ear.</p>
<p>“Thank you,” Jaime said. “If ever I’m in need of a good dose of humility, Lord Commander –”</p>
<p>“I think,” Brienne said, “you don’t take yourself at all seriously.”</p>
<p>His smile was rueful and lopsided. “Kings can’t afford to.” He patted the space next to him. “Come and sit down. Aren’t you tired of standing on your feet all day? Gods know I used to hate it.”</p>
<p>“I’m used to it,” she said stiffly.</p>
<p>“Nevertheless.” He shifted over to make room for her. “I can make it an order, if you’d prefer.”</p>
<p>“Would you order Dacey to sit down next to you?” she retorted, climbing up the steps and settling down next to him, so close that she could feel the warmth of him pressed against her side.</p>
<p>“I’m not sleeping with Dacey,” he replied easily. “Only you.”</p>
<p>She snorted out a laugh.</p>
<p>They sat pressed together in silence for a time, simply enjoying each other’s company, and Brienne’s awkwardness slowly gave way to the fond, bemused affection Jaime always inspired in her.</p>
<p>It was a nice moment. A lovely moment. Impulsively, she fumbled out her phone and held it up, glancing at him in question –</p>
<p>“Of course,” he said with a smile. He pressed closer to her, his crown tipping at an even more precarious angle, and she fiddled with the settings until they were both in the frame, the Iron Throne looming behind them.</p>
<p>“This is stupid,” she said suddenly, lowering the phone. “We shouldn’t –”</p>
<p>His hand closed gently over hers. “We should.” He turned to smile at her, and she knew she was lost.</p>
<p>They took the selfie together.</p>
<p>**</p>
<p>[“Lord Commander,” he said, his eyes drifting to the throne, “there’s something I’ve always wanted to try.”</p>
<p>She followed his gaze. “No. Absolutely not.”</p>
<p>“But –”</p>
<p>“It’s far too dangerous. Do you know how sharp those blades are?” </p>
<p>“They say good kings aren’t harmed by the blades,” he said. “In all my years sitting on that thing, I’ve never once been pricked –”</p>
<p>She choked.</p>
<p>“Perhaps we could put a leather cushion down,” he mused. “Knee and elbow pads.”</p>
<p>“Or perhaps,” she said acidly, “we could try it in full armour.”</p>
<p>His eyes lit up.]</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>* "He looks just like the coins" is from Georgette Heyer's "These Old Shades". </p>
<p>Also - thanks to tall_wolf_of_Tarth, for a discussion on the practicalities of fooling around on the Iron Throne.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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